


Affliction

by sakasamasa



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: noctis having a bad time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakasamasa/pseuds/sakasamasa
Summary: Noctis becomes concerningly ill after being attacked by the Naga in Fociaugh Hollow. Neither remedy nor antidote seem to cure him, and whatever is afflicting him only becomes more aggressive with each passing day. His trusted retainers can do little but worry and watch as Noctis’ condition worsens. Help can’t arrive soon enough, and when it does, it comes from an entirely unexpected source.





	1. Wolf's Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd finally tackle a multi-chapter fic, even though I haven't written anything substantial in forever. Go me. Disclaimer: All the things regarding Noctis' curious and upcoming illness are entirely made up, and possibly even slightly canon-divergent to fit the story. I am also probably the polar opposite of a medical professional, so bear with me, because I am going to be throwing various symptoms around like an uneducated fool.
> 
> Anyway, the whole premise of this chapter is vaguely based on a certain quote from Ghibli's Princess Mononoke: "Cut off a wolf's head and it still has the power to bite.”

A piercing, inhuman shriek echoed through the cave, sending shivers rushing up Noctis’ spine even as he felled the man-serpent before him with one fell swoop of his blade. The Naga's head fell to the cave floor with a resounding thud, black ichor spurting from the place where it separated cleanly from its still writhing body.  
He’d fought many daemons before, but he had yet to encounter one with such distinctly human features until now. It had even spoken to them in the common tongue, desperately demanding to see its child. Noctis had always assumed daemons were creatures of pure evil, harbouring no other desire than to slaughter. Yet despite all his earlier convictions, this one desired little else than its child. A yearning unfulfillable. Daemons couldn’t logically bear offspring; there could be no child to speak of, nor did daemons have any sense of attachment, familial or otherwise. Then why, Noctis asked himself, was the daemon crying out for her babe, like a frightened mother?

A chill colder than the cave’s frigid air instilled itself within him, and he couldn’t look away from the dying serpent as its lengthy body coiled up, slowly deteriorating and dissolving into the same blackness that spilled from its fatal wound. Its severed head, however, stayed intact, and Noctis didn’t realise something was amiss until the Naga’s pale eyes were suddenly on him from the ground, wide and feral and _alive_.

"Bring back my baby," it hissed.  
  
“Noct! Get away from-“  
  
A scream, one that Noctis would later realise was his own. The rest of Ignis’ words were lost to him as a stabbing pain in his leg overtook his senses, sharp pinpricks of teeth tearing through skin deeper and deeper. His heart started to pound faster in his ears, muffling the terrified shouts of his companions. Gods, it burned. He felt as though his leg was going to be torn off. Time seemed to slow, stretching out those agonising moments of pure torment. He looked on uselessly in horror as the Naga’s growling head massacred his leg, panic and shock keeping him rooted to the spot while his mind screamed at him to fight or flee. Despite the immense pain that assaulted his senses and drowned out everything else, Noctis could still feel a different, equally vivid sensation creeping into him from the bite, invading his being like an infection. He felt it course thickly through his veins, spreading and deepening as it latched onto him much like the Naga’s severed head. It forcefully buried itself into the very marrow of every bone in his body, digging deeper still. It felt sickening, and so very cold. Noctis wanted to retch. He wanted to force the foul murk out of his body, but it had already settled, twisting and swimming beneath his skin.  
  
Then the sensation disappeared, and with it the pressure from the Naga’s biting maw. Cool air brushed against the fresh, bleeding wounds on Noctis’ leg, and it jolted him into awareness. He came to his senses just enough to see that Gladiolus had speared the lingering head on his greatsword. What was left of the Naga quickly turned to black, dripping grit, evaporating into the darkness soon after. A silence followed, disturbed only by heavy breathing and the distant hush of the wind. Noctis heaved. The adrenaline, the shock, the acute pain and the drum of his fevered heartbeat faded, until he was left feeling utterly drained. His legs buckled as he collapsed, Prompto just in time to catch him as his frantic voice called out to him from over his shoulders.  
  
He found himself staring up at the great many stalactites hovering menacingly above them from the cave’s ceiling.  
  
“Noct!” His best friend cried out, so distraught that Noctis immediately felt bad for worrying him, “Are you okay? Noct!”

“I-“ He forced himself to speak, looking up to meet Prompto’s fearful gaze, “I’m- I’m okay.”  
  
“I would beg to differ,” Ignis objected, already a potion in hand as he crouched near his injured leg. He wasted no time breaking it over the wound, a bright flash as its contents half-dripped, half-flowed down into the myriad of knifelike slits in the prince’s lower leg. Noctis breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes as the potion healed him, dulling the pulsing pain instantly. The bleeding stopped, but enough of it remained on unmarred skin to show just how severe his injury was.  
  
“What the fuck were you doing?”  
  
Noctis opened his eyes to see Gladiolus looming before him, looking rightfully displeased.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, noticing how Gladiolus’ agitated expression faltered, “I was caught off guard. I didn’t expect it to still be alive.”  
  
“To Nocts’ credit,” Prompto said with a soft voice and a short, nervous huff of laughter, “I don’t think anyone of us saw that coming.”  
  
“Indeed,” Ignis agreed solemnly, rising to his feet to show there was no cause for concern anymore.  
  
“Buddy,” Prompto started, turning to the prince in his arms, “Think you can stand? You lost a lot of blood.”  
  
Feeling revitalised and determined to not let his retainers worry for his sake any more, Noctis nodded slowly, gently breaking away from Prompto’s steadying hands. Even though the vertigo threatened to pull him back towards the earth, he remained standing on shaky legs until the tremors stopped. He waved away Ignis’ outstretched hands, to catch him should he fall, but thanked him for the gesture.  
  
“The third runestone should be just up ahead, right?” He asked with the false determination of someone _not_ close to passing out, “Let’s get this over with.”  
  
His proposition was met with nods and hums of agreement.  
  
“Totally with you on that,” Prompto said, the usual cheeriness back in his voice, “Can’t wait to get out of here.”  
  
And so the four proceeded, into another set of snaking tunnels leading them to what was hopefully the end of the Fulgarian’s trial. Noctis felt a slight strain in his calf from where the Naga had attacked him as he walked, but little else. It unsettled him. He was sure something else had happened to him, that something vile had nestled itself into him, but he could feel little else than various aches, the hum of his magic and the pull of the last runestone ahead.

––

Gaining the Mark of the Fulgarian was behind them, and Noctis almost jumped with joy as he noticed bright light pouring into the entrance of the Fociaugh Hollow. He felt good, sprightly even. His leg was healed completely, and he no longer felt lightheaded. The odd sensation he’d experienced earlier did not make a reappearance, and Noctis was beginning to presume he’d just imagined it. Receiving the Stormsender’s brand had somehow rejuvenated him, and he felt just as energised leaving as he did entering the place, maybe even more so. His companions, however, seemed to be on their last legs, exhaustion evident in their uneven gait and slumped shoulders. For once, it wasn’t Noctis trailing behind the group with tired eyes and a slouching physique, and the prince half expected someone else to start complaining about wanting to take a nap, if only for the short-lived, malicious satisfaction it’d grant him to tell them off.  
  
“Gods,” Prompto groaned, visibly quickening his pace to a brisk jog as he made for the light, “I thought I’d never get to see the sun again!”  
  
Noctis caught up with him as they both sped towards fresher, warmer air, ignoring Gladiolus’ halfhearted command to ‘slow down and be careful.’  
Who cares if there were MT’s waiting for them outside, Noctis haughtily thought to himself. He’d be able to take them down before they could call for reinforcements. Luckily, the only thing waiting for them was a clear, blue sky and a peaceful forest, stretching out into the distance. Not a Magitek death-machine in sight, and no dropships either, though Noctis could still hear the familiar roar of an engine nearing. Gladiolus and Ignis had caught up, having heard the noise as well. Prompto gave him a knowing look of urgency, until that look shifted into one of confusion as the roar grew louder much too fast. Gladiolus exclaimed something, but Noctis couldn’t hear it over the thunderous noise that assaulted his ears. The ground itself started quaking, and all their gazes were pulled to the skies as a massive shadow passed overhead. An aircraft, its reflective surface a blinding white blatantly symbolic of the empire. It soared through the air swiftly and smoothly, the sheer finesse clashing with just how disruptively the presumably giant engines seemed to announce their presence to the whole of Duscae.  
  
“What is that?” Noctis could hear Prompto’s incredulous shout over the din, but just barely.  
  
“A warship?” He supplied uncertainly. Yet for what purpose was an imperial warship now flying over the relatively peaceful forests and hills of Duscae? Whatever the reason, he could safely conclude that whatever or whoever was inside that oversized airship could bring nothing but trouble.  
  
Before the rumble of the slowly diminishing aircraft had dissipated, another jarring noise entered the fray. Noctis startled as he felt a buzz against his chest, the ringtone of his phone muffled by the fabric of his jacket. He hurriedly removed the screeching device from his inner pocket, not even casting a glance at the number calling as he put it up to his ear.  
  
“Hey Highness,” Cindy’s accented tone lacked its usual playfulness, “About your car…”  
  
A brief exchange alerted the prince to the Regalia’s current location, and to his dismay it was holed up in an imperial stronghold. Prompto, who was listening in to the conversation presumably to hear Cindy’s voice rather than acquire intel, visibly deflated at their newfound knowledge, and the implications of it. Having just finished the Stormsender’s trial, it seemed a new, arduous trial awaited them all the same.  
By the time the phone call was over, the sound of Magitek engines was gone, and the blue yonder was once more spotless. Ignis and Gladiolus were casting him an expectant gaze.  
  
“So, the Regalia’s at an imperial base.” Noctis huffed, slightly amused to see the others’ faces contort simultaneously.  
  
“Which one? Did Cindy tell you?” Gladiolus inquired, a hint of tired impatience in his voice.  
  
“Ara-kee-ol or something…” He muttered uncertainly, silently cursing whoever named the place.  
  
“I do believe I’ve heard that name before,” Ignis pondered aloud, “Either way, if we are to retrieve the Regalia, this will be quite the undertaking.”  
  
“One I’m ready to leave for later,” Prompto cut in, stifling a yawn, “Can we please discuss all that later, and find somewhere to eat and sleep first?”  
  
Another round of slightly more eager affirmations, and the four were headed to the nearest haven, all very quick to choose to travel to the nearest rest stop rather than a camping ground. They had been out on the road for a long while now, and the recent lack of civilisation was something they collectively preferred to see amended as soon as possible.  
  
That, and a shower.

\--  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Noctis opened his eyes to see Prompto staring down at him with a smile, a towel wrapped around his neck and donning his nightclothes. His golden hair was slightly damp, but still a stubborn tuft of hair defied the pull of the earth itself as it stood upright in its usual fashion. Noctis returned the greeting, and sat up in the plastic chair he’d accidentally dozed off in. The sun had gone down, the last remnants of light no longer bright enough to illuminate the distant hills. The eatery near the gas pump was open, but Noctis could see few customers. A lone car barrelled past the rest stop hastily, to reach its destination before night fell and daemons emerged.  
  
“D’you think they’ll make it?” Prompto asked softly as they both watched the car disappear, two bright and lonely headlights determinedly cutting through the deepening darkness.  
  
“If they’re headed for Lestallum, probably not,” Noctis said grimly. There wasn’t much else along that road for miles, and he could only pray the driver knew what they were doing. Prompto’s face fell as he plopped down on a plastic chair next to him.  
  
“I wish things didn’t have to be this way,” he sighed, so sincerely it tugged at Noctis’ heartstrings. The sentiment was undeniably mutual; there was no need for Noctis to voice his understanding, but he did feel compelled to comfort the other.  
  
“Prom,” Noctis called his friend to attention, who looked at him with curious, bright eyes.  
  
“Things will be different,” he said resolutely, ignoring the deeply rooted cynicism that seemed to laugh at his baseless confidence. To back himself up, he added some truth to his words.  
  
“We’re already changing things. We’ve been working towards that ever since the four of us started this journey. You know that, right?”  
  
Prompto nodded silently.  
  
“And once the Crystal’s back in Insomnia, once Niflheim’s defeated…”  
  
He intentionally left out the part where it was expected that _they_ would be the ones to accomplish the aforementioned tasks. Bearing that enormous weight was still too frightening a thought. They’d get there eventually. One step at a time.  
  
“…I’ll change things. I’ll do everything in my power to make this world safer for Lucians, for everyone. There’s been enough suffering.”  
  
“I-,” he started again, an edge of uncertainty starting to surface, “I might not be able to get rid of all the daemons, though.”  
  
Prompto stared blankly at him for a while, and the other was about to reprimand him for it. He’d half expected the gunman to start laughing in his face, as his subconscious was doing, but he was met with something else. It was a laugh, but much less scathing, and far more gentle.  
  
“There you go,” Prompto snickered, “sounding all kingly.”  
  
“Well- I mean-,” Noctis sputtered with indignation, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at his own words.  
  
“No, no,” the other assured him with a lopsided, sunny smile, holding up both hands to prove his innocence, “It kinda suits you, but also really not…”

He visibly hesitated before he continued.

“It- You kinda sounded like your dad just now. I-In a good way, of course.”  
  
Noctis blinked at that.  
  
“O-Oh…”  
  
He was at a loss for what to say, how to react, but Prompto graciously took over.  
  
“Thanks, Noct,” Prompto said to him, as if he had actually given him something of value rather than empty promises, “You know, a future like that might be worth all the crap we’re going through now. I’ll- We’ll help you see it through. We’ve got your back.”  
  
As if on cue, the door to the caravan opened, Gladiolus stepping out with a few beers in hand and greeting the two.  
  
“Some guy left these in the minifridge. Want one?”  
  
“Sure,” Prompto grinned, and Noctis nodded, gratefully accepting the cooled glass bottles from the other.  
  
“Hey, Noct,” Gladiolus turned to the prince as he sat down next to them, putting his beer aside. Noctis hummed curiously against the rim of the bottle, feeling a refreshingly bitter taste on his tongue.  
  
“When you got bit by that daemon back in the cave,” Gladiolus said, “you sure nothing else happened to you? I mean, I get the whole shock thing, but something looked pretty off for a second.”  
  
Noctis’ brows furrowed at that. He had indeed experienced something distinctly different to the stabbing pain of a dozen or more teeth, but he could hardly recall what it had felt like. Furthermore, he had gone through the rest of the day feeling healthier than he had in a long time, courtesy of the Stormbringer’s favour. Whatever happened to him then didn’t linger, and he could only assume it was gone completely.  
  
“Yeah,” Noctis replied, “I did feel something else back there, like- it felt…”  
  
Prompto and Gladiolus looked entirely too concerned awaiting his response.  
  
“I don’t know, cold?” he concluded flatly, “Maybe it’s just a daemon thing. Whatever it was, I don’t think it stuck. I feel fine now.”  
  
No one reacted. Noctis huffed.  
  
“The potion Iggy gave me probably took care of it. Trust me, I’m fine.”  
  
“You sure?” Gladiolus countered, resembling Ignis in just how passively overbearing he sounded.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure,” Noctis sighed, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible, “Wanna play King’s Knight?”  
  
Gladiolus’ brows furrowed as he immediately caught on to Noctis’ halfhearted ploy, but he relented, not pressing the matter any further. Prompto pulled out his phone eagerly, as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity to arise. Before Noctis had even pulled out his own phone, the familiar startup music blared from Prompto’s device almost obnoxiously, filling the evening ambience.  
  
The gunman grinned at the prince.  
  
“You’re on!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Not very sure about the lay-out. If any reader would be so kind as to let me know if this chapter reads smoothly, that'd be greatly appreciated! None of the chapters in this fic wil be beta'd, so I'm sorry for any errors in this chapter and the chapters to come.


	2. Escalation

Gladiolus was the first to wake, the dim light of dawn peeking through the shutters rousing him from familiar dreams of clashing swords and clattering gunfire. Covers shuffled somewhere in the confined space of the caravan, and a curious silence followed. Slowly sitting upright, Gladiolus felt a stiffness course through him as he moved, courtesy of days spent in raging storms and cold caves. Running one hand through strands of recently washed hair vaguely smelling of cheap shampoo and rubbing away the last vestiges of a restless sleep with the other, he listened to the steady breathing of his companions, all sleeping soundly in their respective bunks. Above him, he noticed with slight amusement how Prompto’s unmoving hand hung over the edge of his bunk, seemingly suspended in mid-air. Behind him, he could clearly make out a mop of unruly black hair sticking out from under the colourless bedding on the top bunk. Below the prince, an odd but similar sight. Ignis, who would usually be the first to rise, had his head ducked into the covers all the same, entirely dead to the world. Unsurprising, since the last few days have been anything but peaceful, what with them having to track down the gods themselves and getting Noctis to somehow receive their blessing. As much as Gladiolus revered the all-powerful Astrals above, he’d taken to heart that they were very fond of making things a lot harder than they needed to be, especially when it came to forging covenants. The Archaean’s trial had been no easy feat, and the Fulgarian’s trial had sent them travelling on foot through the forested lands of Duscae with a constant deluge beating down on their backs, as if the Stormsender himself knew the Regalia was conveniently not at their disposal.  
  
Who knows, maybe trudging through muddy forests and grasslands in waterlogged shoes, fighting the sweeping gusts of the storm and constantly slipping on wet rocks was also part of gaining his favour.  
  
Maybe. Who knows.

Content with letting his companions sleep a while longer, Gladiolus silently exited the caravan to get some air. The door clicked open, and a chill crept in before it clicked shut behind him. As expected, the sun had yet to show itself, hidden behind distant hills, but still shining its vibrant light onto a cloudless Duscae as if it was catching up on all the lightless days of roiling storm clouds and pouring rain. It was a comforting sight, one that Gladiolus didn’t realise he’d missed. Even so, the air was not as amenable, a crisp chill seeping into his skin, making the hairs on its surface stand upright.

“Up already?”

An accented voice came from his right, and he turned to meet the crooked, wide smile of the nearby eatery’s proprietor. He was missing teeth, in their stead garish gold ones. His estimated age didn’t allude at all to the ink that covered the man’s forearms with many intricate, swirling patterns. One of them resembled a griffon taking flight. Regal plumage, a sweeping tail and large claws, all shadowed by a stark, warning gaze. Despite this, the proprietor himself looked utterly unsuspicious. Neighbourly, even, sporting a slightly stained apron that seemed to fray at the certain edges. The man was built, but an evident love for food shone through his squared shoulders and toned arms. Gladiolus gave the man a curt nod in greeting. He might’ve served them dinner the night before, but his companions were, in their current position, more vulnerable than anything. Gladiolus was loath to admit it, but as things were, them being targeted by the empire itself and constantly on the run, even someone so simple as a restaurant owner could pose a threat of some kind. The man seemed to notice his wariness, and his toothy grin only widened in response.  
  
“I might not look like it,” he started, “but I’d recognise the Crown Prince of Lucis if I saw him. Though, he ain’t much of a Prince anymore nowadays, ain’t he?”

Gladiolus cocked his head, visibly unamused by the man’s hollow display of familiarity. This only seemed to humour the other even more.  
  
“Frankly, I don’t give a damn,” the man said lightly, “so keep your shirt on. Everyone’s got problems; I don’t see how getting involved with yours is gonna be worth my while.”

Gladiolus grinned at that. Not many people would be so forward if they knew of Noctis’ presence in their group, and he admired the man’s guts.  
  
“Fair enough.”

“Empire’s bad for business,” the proprietor grumbled, languidly waving one hand at nothing in particular, “putting up all those blockades, stationing their tin can soldiers everywhere, and those dropships… Scarin’ away customers, that’s what it does. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones behind the longer nights. An’ they said the war was over.”

There was a hint of tangible resentment in the man’s words, no matter how casually he brought them into being. For a split second, Gladiolus noticed a glint of sadness in his eyes, and he could only sympathise. Many had been outraged, him included, at the revelation that the empire’s peace treaty was little else than a ruse. For years, he had to watch the war relentlessly eat away at the borders of Lucis, at the faith of the Lucian people, at Noctis’ father and at his own father. The promise of salvation, an end to suffering, was presented to them, only to be cruelly taken away before their very eyes. For a moment his thoughts transported him back to the overlook near Insomnia, helplessly watching as dark clouds of smoke, ash and death billowed up into the air from the desolate remains of his home. No Wall, no King, no Shield and no more Insomnia to speak of. He willed away the despair that clouded his vision, and he was back at the rest stop. The man had turned to watch the sunrise, the light no longer reflecting off golden teeth as his mouth was pulled into a taut frown. Now, he looked like just another soul affected by the war, a victim of circumstance.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out why you boys are still fighting, after losing so much already.”

“It’s an uphill battle,” Gladiolus concurred, “but it’s not something we can run away from. If we give up now, everything before that will have been for nothing.”

In that moment, the caravan door opened, revealing a sleepy-looking Prompto, blonde hair sticking out at awkward angles above half-lidded eyes. His shoulders slumped as he leaned into the caravan door, suppressing a yawn.

“Gladio, there you are- Ah,” the gunman noticed the proprietor, and smiled shyly, “Good morning, sir.”

The man returned the gesture, once more flashing those auric dentures.

“Breakfast’s on the house for you boys. Make sure to stop by before you head out.”

Gladiolus thanked the man, and the two of them watched him stroll leisurely to the eatery to start his day.

“That’s the Crow’s Nest dude, right? What’d you guys talk ‘bout?” Prompto yawned, not even putting a hand in front of his gaping mouth.

“Nothin’ much,” Gladiolus said conclusively, already turning to head back into the caravan.

“Six, Prom, close the door. It’s cold,” a certain princely voice intruded on the conversation, and both Gladiolus and Prompto shared a humoured look before reentering the caravan to get ready. A new day awaited.

\--

Monica had graciously agreed to perform some reconnaissance for the four. Hopefully her efforts would lead to an effective approach regarding retrieving the Regalia from the Aracheole Stronghold, but she’d noted such a process could take some time, and so the prince and his retinue had taken up several menial hunts to scrounge up funds and keep them busy.  
  
It was before noon when their first hunt had commenced in the heart of the Nebulawood beneath tall treetops blocking the bright sunlight. Hisses and screeches echoed through the trees as Gladiolus cut down an approaching hundlegs, halving its spiny form with ease. They weren’t particularly hardy foes, but their advantage was in numbers, each one frantically twisting across the forest floor with such vigour that Gladiolus could hardly keep track. They hadn’t devised much of a plan beforehand, but one glance at his comrades told him they weren’t in dire need of one. Ignis and Noctis seemed entranced by their own battles, blades spinning and slashing gracefully as their enemies fell to the earth almost rhythmically. Prompto was the only one faring a little less than stellar, visibly struggling to keep up with the jittering movements of the hundlegs. A gunshot rang through the battlefield, followed by a curse, followed by several more gunshots. An animalistic chitter to his left tore his focus away from his companions, and Gladiolus’ greatsword met the clattering mandibles of another hundlegs.

The battle was over within minutes, but all four were left panting as they dismissed their weapons. Prompto groaned, intentionally taking a few steps back from the fallen hundlegs before him with a shudder.

“That was stressful… and gross.”

“Everyone alright?” Ignis asked, soon followed by a small chorus of affirmations, short of one voice.  
  
Something wasn’t right. Gladiolus’ suspicions were confirmed as he looked to Noctis, who was visibly shaking as he struggled to stay upright, knuckles white on his thighs. He was breathing too fast, too harshly, not befitting a simple scuttle with mere hundlegs. Gladiolus neared the prince, noticing with growing unease how his complexion was paler than usual. A stab of anger imbedded itself in his mind as he internally reprimanded himself for not noticing the prince’s condition earlier, but he pushed it aside. He needed to remain vigilant and clearheaded, now more than ever.

“Noct, are you hurt?” He couldn’t keep the urgency from his voice as he scanned the other’s trembling form to no avail. There were no visible wounds on his body, nothing to suggest he could mend whatever pained the other.

“Hundlegs are known to be venomous.” Gladiolus almost jumped as Ignis’ presence made itself known beside him, and he noticed Prompto had joined them as well. “Perhaps-“

“N-No,” Noctis forced out between harsh intakes of breath, “…Didn’t get bit. Just tired.”

An exasperated sigh threatened to force itself from Gladiolus, but he remained silent. Noctis was quick to complain when training dragged out for too long, when his feet started to ache while walking, when the temperature was a bit too high for his liking, but not when he was in actual peril.

“Hate to break it to you, buddy,” Prompto said carefully, “But you’re probably not just tired.”

Ignis stepped forward, already holding out what looked like a remedy. He must’ve deemed the situation dire enough to use it. It was one of the few they had, and they weren’t exactly easy to come by.

“I can’t rule out the possibility that you’ve been poisoned just by your word alone. Drink this, and we’ll head back to Coernix Station.”

Noctis looked hesitant. Ignis glared, and the vial was soon removed from his outstretched, gloved hand. The prince looked like he was about to cough the potent medicine back up the moment it touched his tongue, but he stubbornly downed the remedy before tossing the emptied vessel to the ground. The very act of drinking seemed to exhaust him, and Gladiolus moved in, wordlessly and swiftly lifting the prince on his back before the other could protest.

“H-Hey!” Noctis squawked weakly as clung to his Shield, making no move to disentangle himself from the other despite his halfhearted outcry.

Gladiolus noticed how Noctis’ grip around his neck was far from firm, and how his clammy skin was too cold for the weather. He prayed the remedy would quickly take effect. As the three made their way back to the rest stop, he tried to ignore the worry that gnawed at his gut, Noctis having dozed off from what he hoped was fatigue. Every so often Prompto or Ignis cast concerned glances at the prince, and once their eyes shifted to meet his, he could do little else than return the shared woe that hung overhead like a storm cloud on a sunny day.  
  
\--

“Gladio.”

He looked up from his novel to see Ignis standing before him, phone still in hand. A weariness in his eyes betrayed his ever present poise, a slight slouch in his stature a sign that something was troubling him. He looked much too tired for it to be noon still, but the sun had yet to set.

“Monica contacted me,” he continued, “She has a plan with regards to the retrieval of the Regalia from the Aracheole Stronghold, but I would rather not have us set out before we can ascertain that Noct’s condition has improved. There is, of course, a possibility that the Regalia will be relocated elsewhere before that time, but if the situation calls for it, we could make a party of three.”

Gladiolus hummed pensively, folding the corner of the page in his book. As retainers, it was their duty to protect the prince, more often than not by fighting whatever opposition threatened to harm him. Even so, Noctis was a vital asset on the battlefield alongside them, and Gladiolus wondered if they would even manage without his contributions. His admittedly impressive swordsmanship and powerful magic had proven a blessing at times, especially against large groups of enemies, including waves of MT’s. Ignis undoubtedly knew this, but perhaps he had more faith in his fellow retainers’ abilities than he did. The uncertainty in his tone, however, disproved that possibility.

“Think us three could handle that?” Gladiolus asked, if only to challenge Ignis’ already wavering confidence. The other sighed defeatedly.

“Truth be told, I do not. Infiltrating the stronghold will be an incredible challenge in itself, and without Noctis, even more so.”

“So, we wait for Noct to recover. The more the merrier, right?” Gladiolus suggested, forcing a lightness in his tone hoping it would relieve some of the obvious tension in the other’s appearance. He’d put away his book, gesturing to the chair beside him. Ignis complied, letting himself fall into the seat with a notable lack of grace and another deep sigh. Gladiolus was torn between surprise and laughter at his friend’s uncharacteristic inelegance, but he bared neither.

“Waiting might be our best option for now,” Ignis pondered aloud, a distant look cast at the scenery before them, “I say the prince’s health takes priority, despite the risk it poses.”

“With you on that,” Gladiolus agreed, “This whole thing is stressful enough as it is.”

Something in Ignis’ eyes seemed to flicker, and the corners of his lips quirked upwards reminiscent of a smile. There was a certain kinship to be found in just how powerless the two felt as protectors in a situation like this. In battle, they could defend Noctis as their duty demanded, fighting onfor his sake until whatever could hurt him was vanquished or repelled entirely. In sickness, they could offer a cure, comfort perhaps, but very little else. As it was now, they could only bide their time until the prince recovered or deteriorated. It was frustrating, that much was evident in the other’s distant gaze. Gladiolus clapped a friendly hand onto the other’s upper arm, flashing a grin as he caught his attention.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If it wasn’t the hundlegs, it was probably the snake daemon that did something to him. He just didn’t notice it then.”

Ignis returned the smile weakly. Gladiolus removed his hand, leaning back in the chair.

“Maybe so,” Ignis replied tentatively, “Whatever poison the daemon instilled in him might’ve only started affecting him at a later time. In any case, the remedy should be strong enough to cure him completely.”

“That’s the spirit, Iggy,” Gladiolus smirked, “Noct’ll be fine.”

He kept telling himself that as he waited and waited, the sun setting a lot slower than usual. When the idleness grew unbearable, he and Ignis had set out on another easy hunt near the station, more so to pass the time than to earn gil. Noct’ll be fine, he told himself, even when upon returning to the rest stop Prompto had offered him an uneasy frown instead of his usual sunny smile. It felt like an omen.  
  
Noct’ll be fine.   
  
For a moment he believed it as Noctis had emerged from the caravan that evening to join them for dinner, though looking just as pale as before. At least he appeared a lot more lively, chatting away with Prompto in-between small bites of food.  
  
Noct’ll be fine, like a ridiculing echo.  
  
His faith in that statement had taken a nosedive as he listened to the prince’s pained retching from the caravan’s bathroom just moments after a meagre dinner. Prompto’s hushed voice cut through the sounds of anguish, muttering empty consolations to the prince. Ignis sat fidgeting on the edge of the bunk bed with empty eyes but a mind in turmoil. A tremor in his right leg. Gladiolus himself stood near the caravan door, leaning against the wall so he wouldn’t fall if his legs were to suddenly give out. He hadn’t even noticed Prompto had exited the bathroom until he stood before them, like a bearer of bad news that they were already painfully aware of.  
  
“So, what do we do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, things are heating up now. Spoiler: The next chapter will be a bit more Prompto-centric.


End file.
